try as I might...

I made the decision to do the honorable thing. Thought about it a long time, but realized my ever-present, constantly alert conscience would not allow me to do otherwise. I contemplated evil for over a week, but have decided to put it to rest. Told that little sneaky thing that has been tagging around in my life for days, to just take a giant step back and Let Me Be.

I put in a load of dirty white clothes in the washer last night before bed. And got up this morning, shortly before six, to move half of it to the dryer. Took a shower and dressed. Moved the dry things and put the rest of that wet stuff in the dryer. I always put it in the basket, and dump it out of the basket on the bed to sort, fold, put away. Which I neatly accomplished.

Here's the story: When I came in the door, one afternoon, over a week ago, the washer was running. Which is very unusual, as he has not done any laundry in years. I think that rather than go through the actual process a year and a half ago, when I went to Mexico for a week, he broke out some new underwear that had been in the drawer, still in the package, for months. He simply does not do laundry. I know he knows how, and was doing his own when we met. But over the years, has apparently decided that is not in his 'job description'.

When I came in the door, the water was running in the washer, I immediately noticed something Very Unusual occurring. And asked what he was washing. He said he had agreed to do an extra shift of volunteering down at the Infantry Museum, where he usually goes on Friday and Saturday afternoons for four hours. And that he needed a clean shirt to wear, as he noticed that basket of dark things was full. Which was ok, pretty considerate and thought-y - showing some remarkable initiative. I'd have expected something along the lines of a conversation that 'implied' he was out of the 'uniform' shirts and wondering when I was planning to do more laundry, so his blue shirt would get washed, dried, hung up, ready for use.(When - in reality - there was actually another long-sleeved, royal blue volunteer shirt, just like the one he was washing, hanging in his closet, ready for use.)

The washer finished, I moved the few items into the dryer, put in a sheet, and said I was going for a walk down the street. When I returned, I noticed the dryer stopped, and looked in, to get his shirt out and hang it. But all that was in there was my work pants, pajama pants and dark socks. I got my clothes out and put them away. Completely steamed: wondering why he got his shirt out and not my things? So thoroughly aggravated, it took me two days to be able to ask him: why?

All the answer I got was that he needed that shirt to wear to his volunteer job, and knew it would wrinkle if let to settle in the dryer when it stopped. So I was thinking: I'll just get my clothes out of the dryer, and leave yours? And the next time, and the next, and etc, etc, etc....

But, as reported at the beginning here, I just washed, dried, folded, put away a big pile of his tighty-whiteys and T-shirts, along with socks and hankies. I am going to be so sparkly with stars in my crown when I get to heaven, they will be issuing newcomers sunglasses before we have our reunion.